Iniquity
by romeoharvey
Summary: EO, but in a very wrong way.


**Iniquity**

_**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Law and Order: SVU_

_**NOTE:** A very wrong and twisted EO fic. Very dark, rape, character death, basically more mature subject matter than I usually write. Feedback on how my first attempt went is much appreciated._

"_No! Elliot, no! Please don't...", Olivia cries, shoving hard against her partners' chest, struggling to push him off of her, but he's too far gone to pay any mind to her protests and he adds another fist sized mark to the growing collection on her face. The weight of him disappears for a moment and Olivia dares to hope that maybe he's come to his senses, but her horror grows as she hears the distinctive sound of a zipper sliding open and feels more than sees his hands moving aside the tattered remains of her nightgown before he's right there between her legs pushing in and she's clawing at him now, but it hurts so much, especially when he leans down again and his blood-sweat-alcohol soaked shirt is rubbing against raw bruises and this feels like it'll never end and it's no use but she's still digging her nails into his sides his arms his neck, tries to reach his face but he bites her... _

_And the only sounds are broken and every thrust from Elliot is shattering all they ever had and Olivia's never wanted to die as much as she wants now._

Her favorite comforter, which brings no comfort at all, drawn over her like when she was a nine year old and wanted to hide from the monsters in her closet, Olivia sees the events on the night in her mind, not a tangible thought in her head, and all the while, she stares at Elliot's prone form lying less than a foot away from her. Elliot, whom she had felt she could fight with and laugh with and confide in and even trust... Elliot, the one person she would have swore could never, ever, not in a million thousand years held a gun point ever hurt her.

_The pounding on her draws her from the much-desired sleep she had just been slipping into, makes her get up and it's kind of eerie how she knows it's Elliot before she even looks through the peep hole just to be sure, but it's just past two in the morning and Olivia's too exhausted to mull over what it means that she can identify the man from the rhythm of his knocking at her door. Unlocking and pulling it open, Olivia barely has time to get aside as Elliot barges in. At first he sits on the couch, but then he gets up and paces and circles it, an emotion radiating from him that all at once is familiar, but so alien. A bit more awake and falling into confusion, Olivia shuts the door and goes to her partner, standing so that when he turns around and walks, he ends up right in front of her. And he pauses. Olivia asks him what's wrong, why does he look like he's been crying, and why won't he just give her that bottle and they can sit down and he can tell her everything. Elliot stares. Olivia finally places the expression on his face: the ugly, white hot fury he directs at suspects during interrogation._

Her left hand holds the edge of the blanket high enough that her tearful gaze never leaves Elliot, while the right one holds her gun in a vise-like grip. Her gun. The one that was laying on the table right next to her when Elliot had begun to yell about how everything was going wrong, how everyone he loved betrayed him, abandoned him without so much as a goodbye. The gun that was still laying there, perfectly within reach when Elliot's powerful fists had begun slamming into her, even closer when she had fallen to the floor. But through it all, the weapon had stayed put. There, but not there for her because she would never use it on the man she loves. Now she holds the gun carefully in her lap, caressing its ice cold body like it might be her body and she needs to warm it before she can use it.

_Her pleas for mercy never leave his ears, and her blood lives in him, gone from his skin long ago, but buried in his bones, a stain he hates because of the constant reminder of how he lost himself and did the unforgivable to his best friend, but he won't try to remove the ruby liquid no one else sees because he can't, he shouldn't forget. And how he would love to say he doesn't recall his sin, but he wasn't that drunk, and it's all crystal clear. Nothing else, not before nor after, has quite the same ring of realism._

The shot is deafening, but only until it echoes back and rings and rings and chokes him because Elliot knows what he'll see when he opens eyes that had been shut in emptiness or rage, but not in sleep. But if he was thinking the emptiness of his heart couldn't grow, or that it couldn't have filled with the blinding self hatred that took root the instant he took in the sight before him, he was mistaken. Because right there across from him, so close he could feel the human warmth leaving her , was Olivia, with tears tracks on her face and a hole in her chest, right above her heart, where blood was spilling out at the speed of light, or maybe faster. Sobbing hard, Elliot moves to hold the woman he has come to love more than any other, and tells her he's sorry and he's wrong and a monster, and he begs her to not leave and tells her he would give anything to be able to go back and undo what he did to her.

The dead can't hear the living.

The end.


End file.
